The Tale of the Aliens
by Mira Kial
Summary: A memoir penned by Lord Cedric himself. He reveals his serpentine family origins, his magic-filled childhood, his dark days as a quasi-royal, his redemption in Candrakarian prison, and his happier years as a citizen of Earth.
1. Thoughts from Elyon

_**Preface**_

by Queen Elyon Lucia Escanor of Meridian

* * *

I unearthed this book from an ancient chest in the corner of Ye Olde Bookshop, Lord Cedric's temporary abode in the city of Heatherfield, Connecticut. It was stored next to his old, rusting dagger set with moonstones, a steel spyglass, and a ragged sash of the deepest crimson red I have ever seen.

Lord Cedric was somewhat of a mystery. Most of us knew him as a vile and clever military leader. Some of us considered him a lost soul who was blinded by power and anger. Still others knew him as an old-fashioned gentleman who operated a humble bookshop in America.

I knew him as all three, and yet more. This man brought me back to Meridian and cut short my childhood sojourn on planet Earth. He unveiled the curtain and woke me up. He, on my brother's orders, held me prisoner inside the castle and personally attended to me daily, in order to fill my head with lies. He indeed spent more time with me than my own brother, Prince Phobos. It was his duty to shut me up, hide the truth, and, ultimately, end me.

Yes, it was an ugly time. A very ugly time.

This is precisely what keeps the common citizen from wanting to learn about him: his work under the Prince's hand was dirty, evil work. And it is also why his work failed. I have come to realize, over the years, that the purpose of work determines the work's success. Worthy labor always succeeds in some form or another. This is divine law.

Unworthy labor may at times achieve a result, but it will never _succeed. _It will never create satisfaction. It will never generate rewards. And Cedric knew this quite well.

He tells his readers: "I stop, take a breath, and nearly weep like a child. Why am I here, torturing a young girl with lies and loss? Is this my purpose, what I was born for?"

Reader, my brother was past feeling. He chose to hand over his conscience when he created the Whisperers, evil spirits of our royal garden. But Lord Cedric was not past feeling. He knew that his actions were wrong, and he hated himself for them.

It was indeed power that had seduced him and blinded him; power that was not rightfully his. Lord Cedric, alongside my brother, murdered innocents, destroyed my kingdom, and terrorized its people, in the name of personal gain.

Now, let us not forget the final chapter of Cedric's life, however.

For twenty-five long years, he lay imprisoned in Kandrakar. He wrestled with himself and struggled under the chains he was tied under, both literally and spiritually. Cedric, as he repented, wrote and wrote and wrote. He recorded a good portion of the words you will soon read. He was outright done with being who he was. He wanted change. He was ready for it; he welcomed it.

When Cedric emerged from prison in June of 2011, he looked like a completely different human being (alongside being 25 years older than when I'd last looked at him!) There was starlight in his eyes, and a firmness in his composure unlike anything I have ever witnessed. The first thing he did, when I met him at the prison gates, was to drop to the ground and beg for my forgiveness.

I felt as if every cell in my body was being flushed by water and washed clean. I could hardly breathe, but I managed to say, "I forgive you."

Not many people were aware that he was still alive, let alone that he was a newly freed man, in more ways than one.

Know this, that he should have lived forever in prison. It was the Oracle himself who ordered his release into a state of probation. What profound, merciful thoughts were streaming through the Oracle's mind at the time, I will never know, but I am very grateful to him. The world needs to know that mercy is real, and it is alive, and it is powerful.

I was once very angry with Cedric, but any fleeting resentment has long ago been eclipsed by my joy at his redemption. I, too, spent twenty-five years pondering the dark days of my struggle to inherit the throne. I was a naive girl then, but I have since learned much of love, hatred, sorrow, and forgiveness. Cedric was my teacher.

It is my deepest sadness that my brother has not experienced the same change that his childhood friend and closest advisor has undergone. He is still alive, however. Perhaps the time will come that he chooses to awaken.

Reader, I hope you will feel what I have felt while reading these magnificent pages. Cedric had a deep heart, and a bright mind. He loved words; his choice as a bookseller for his cover identity was not by accident. He wrote with an audience in mind: the people of all planets and all races, young and old. Most specifically, however, he wrote for the people of Earth. For it is Earth who dreams of magic, but does not yet know how _real _magic is.

I welcome you, reader, to the words of Cedric - or rather, Kedrayk, as was his birth name.


	2. Our author is dead

If you are reading this, then I am dead.

The book in your hands was locked by a spell I invented myself, which would only break once my heart stops beating. Therefore, my soul is in some other place (at the time of writing, I have no idea where exactly that would be.)

Well, I congratulate you upon finding my... memoir, of sorts. You are most likely some servant of Candrakar, our "mother kingdom," coming to help clean up the remains of our battle-torn palace. Perhaps you are even removing my dead body from the castle, in which case I apologize for my ghastly appearance.

Or you are a follower of Crown Princess Elyon; if so, I heartily congratulate you upon being still alive.

I may be assuming a lot by predicting that this castle will fall to its knees as a result of war. Yet, I feel it and I see it coming. Phobos might even agree with me; I often hear fear in his voice, and resignation. We are a doomed people, we royals; we are milking every last shred of control we have, until the well dries up and our servants rise up against us.

Well, I digress. Perhaps you are someone else entirely; maybe you're even a human from Earth, and have no idea what I'm prattling on about.

In that case, just be patient with me, and you'll understand eventually.

...I have not introduced myself yet, have I.

What a strange thought. Because this book is locked from everyone, I am free to say anything I want, yet I am not sure what to even refer to myself as. Perhaps I should use my true name, not the one I use every day of my life as a disguise.

Well then. Hello, reader. My name is Kedrayk, and I am a naga.

I will begin where most stories begin: at the start of my life. I will try to share all the details I have retained of that far-away forest of my childhood; it seems like nothing but a dream now. If my memory fails me, I'll use my imagination, and ask that my reader does the same. In any case, imagination is sometimes just as sweet as reality.

Let us begin.


	3. Self-preservation

No one has ever heard of the Ayal Rainforest, which lies opposite on the globe from Meridian (the chilly capitol city in which I reside). Neither has anyone heard of a naga. Both of these things were snuffed out by humans, exactly sixteen years ago.

Yes, the human settlers destroyed my people and my home.

Why exactly they did so, I cannot fathom. Were we unwanted? Possibly. Were we strange? To them, I suppose we were.

Were we _dangerous_ to them? Certainly.

It wasn't the forest they wanted; the poor things couldn't even tolerate the gases emitted by the colossal trees without a mask (in fact, they renamed our forest the "Black-Breath Woods.") It would take ages to clear the trees and the wild beasts, and the soil wasn't fit to grow carrots and potatoes.

Was it _us _they wanted? Our muscles? Slave labor? Possibly - but they must have discovered, after a time, that we were too strong to contain. Was it our _skin_? Perhaps. Snakeskin is durable, and apparently fashionable (I even see it on Prince Phobos's gowns now and then, which, despite our friendship, makes me want to rip his face off of his head.)

I believe it is more than that.

I have lived for more than fifteen years among humans, under a disguise manufactured by my adoptive "mother." I have observed their treatment of the Galhots (the native, slightly reptilian people of our planet Metamoor); how the humans make slaves out of them, treat them as underlings.

I have determined that humans - and by extension, those of all races - act, in large part, out of fear.

Not only do they fear what is different from them - the naga's emeraldine skin; our gold eyes; our strange voices - but they fear more than that. What truly scared the humans was how _similar _we are.

We have arms, faces, and beating hearts. Smooth hair, shining eyes, intelligent minds - all things that humans have.

It was startling, I imagine. A people so unsettlingly akin to a human being - but with snakeskin, a muscular tail, poisonous fangs! What, pray tell, were the options? _Assimilate_ the nagas? Certainly not; we would overrun the humans; out-hunt their stock of prey, overtake their lands. We couldn't help being physically superior.

Well, could the humans speak with the nagas? Ridiculous; we have different languages.

And, to be realistic, the first settlers on the Ayal Continent were likely too busy looking for a meal to socialize with "savages."

Thus, I can think of no other option than self-preservation.

They attacked in the year 1972.

It took three attempts to overtake us: fighting us by the sword didn't accomplish too much, for we were three feet taller and three times more muscular. The second attempt - attack by archery - was a bit more damaging, for our cumbersome bodies could not move swiftly enough to retaliate.

However, it was the third attempt which defeated us: they set our forest on fire.

Today, I do not know if my family survived. I have no doubt that some nagas escaped, but if I knew where_, _I would not be in Meridian right now, sitting at a gilded writing desk.

I often wonder why I do not hate the humans. They killed many of my people; drove out the rest of them. They are judgmental and unreasonable. I should hate them. Sometimes, I do hate them.

But hating them tires the mind and the body. And it does not accomplish anything. Most importantly, I survived because a human boy, a bit younger than me, saved me.

His name? You might already know what it is; however, have patience, and I will speak more about him soon.

Both this human boy and I learned very quickly that hatred would not bring us anywhere. He wanted to teach me swordplay and the English language; I wanted to teach him about plants, animals, mountains. We had no room for hatred.

I call it a small miracle. It makes very little sense to me, but it happened. We became brothers.

I think the humans intrigued me. Their minds are blatantly better than ours. They think deeply, brilliantly, whereas a naga spends most of his time thinking of food and survival. Yes, he experiences emotions and ponders things, but not nearly as intensively.

I hungered for that kind of... wisdom, that curiosity. I could not stay away from the humans.

So... I became one.


	4. Little dragon

It occurs to me that had I written my memories earlier, I would have more_ of _them to record. I'd recall each member of my clan, all the words of my father, every mount I explored with my three elder brothers. But a mist has covered these things, a mist created both by time and my obsession with human beings. I wanted to forget who I had been, to recreate myself.

This realization pains me. Yet, I will continue. I am tired of ignorance.

I was born, according to my best estimate, in 1963. Humans in Meridian like to keep track of the years in Earth time - it amuses them to see how quickly time passes - even if Metamoor's day is two hours longer, and its year two months shorter. According to the Metamoorian calendar, I was born in 845 A.B. (Ante Bellum, or, after the civil war which began the reign of the queens).

Now that our little history lesson is over, I will tell you what my name means.

In the nagas' language, _Kedrayk_ means "little dragon." What I find haunting is that _drayk _resembles the word for "dragon" for Earth languages. Perhaps we nagas are connected to humans in more ways than one?

Ah, such knowledge would be satisfying to me.

I, the "small dragon," was indeed the runt of my family. My peers were all a foot or two taller than me; no one knows this, because my adoptive mother blessed me with a human disguise which was rather tall in stature. (In the event that she is actually the one reading this book, thank you, Alda.)

We lived on a thick, deep river. We hunted jilks (you could imagine them as small, horned rabbits), ulks (sort of a stocky, slow-moving deer), and harvested fruits of the black trees.

I loved to hunt. The rush of wind as I chased my prey, the height and danger of the mountains; these were beautiful sensations and I craved them. I still do, in fact.

Often, my family would have to send search parties for me because I spent so much time alone in the trees, watching the animals. I endeavored to be as still as possible, as is the snake's tradition of hunting. As they say: the silent hunter wins the prize.

Life twenty years ago was utterly simple. We traveled along the river, ate food, and protected the little ones. And this was all there was.

At times, I hearken back to those days when I lie asleep. It astounds me, how much my life - and my mind, with it - has changed in two decades.

I wonder if there was more to be said, more to be discovered. We were not _animals_; surely, if we had the humans' quick minds and nimble fingers, perhaps we would have... _lived _more fully. We would have developed art, technology, architecture. We would be a civilization, not a "species."

Then perhaps, dear reader, would _we _be the royalty?

Well, I digress. Let me return to reality.

I remember the faces of my parents, and very little beyond that. They taught me to respect my prey, and take only what was needed. I cannot say that I obeyed them; I often went hunting for the sake of pleasure. But this does not matter anymore.

What a thing it is to ponder my earliest days. It is disturbing and comforting, all at once.

Perhaps my reader will think me sentimental. I now read my own words, and hardly recognize myself. These, I suppose, are the words I've been unwilling and unable to say. Now that they are in black ink before me, I am unable to change them.

There _is _the option of burning this book after it is completed, I suppose. But, how disappointing. People of the world, what would you do with these words once they are discovered? Will you sail to the burnt remains of the Ayal Forest, and look for my relatives? Will you visit my dear friend Phobos in prison? Will you ask just how much he knew about me, and kept hidden?

Will Princess Elyon herself read this book, and learn just how meticulously I have planned her death?

If so, I suppose am doing my duty in recording these hidden truths.

And if not, I have still fulfilled a purpose. I write because I do not want to lose myself completely. I had thought that erasing my soul and replacing it with that of a human would be not only possible, but _good._

But that notion is idiotic. I am me. I can no longer deny it.

I ask that my reader be patient with me as I peel back the layers. I will return to the day when the humans landed on our shore; when the Prince became my friend and my heart changed; when my metamorphosis began.


	5. The spirit in the night

When our scouts arrived with reports of a strange presence on our northwest shore, we divided into two opinions. Some of us wondered: Were these some strange spirits that had emerged out of the sea? Were they aliens from another world?

Others scoffed and continued to sharpen their weapons, confident that these creatures were not a threat.

As for my three brothers and I, we were fascinated. We spent many a late night creating stories about them. Neytak, the eldest, enjoyed frightening us with his tales of demons. According to him, these odd beings were evil spirits come to punish bad children for disobeying their parents (this was primarily directed at me.)

Of course, they were only stories; we knew our men would chase them off in due time.

Hah. What a thought, indeed.

Naturally, we tightened the border patrols. Women and children were confined to the central camp until safety could be ensured. Unfortunately, this meant that I and my youngest brother, Balek, were now prohibited from wandering.

I hated the suspense. I began to feel like a crow inside a cage. So, on the fifth, or so, night, after the humans' arrival, I used my smallness to my advantage. I waited till night, inconspicuously climbed a tree, and slipped away.

And, to my colossal surprise, young Prince Phoebus (yes, this was his name then) happened to be lurking in the same trees.

Well, there was nothing to think of but attack, of course.

The doe-eyed boy had already spotted me, so I flung myself at him. He dodged it clumsily. I lunged again. He jumped from the tree, sprained his ankle badly, and limped away, moaning like a cat under his cloth air-mask.

At this point, I was so proud of myself - a mere nine-year-old - for scaring off a human being, I couldn't help but follow him.

…It was rather funny. Phoebus kept looking over his shoulder, squealing in terror, and speeding up as fast as his throbbing leg would allow - which, bless his heart, was _not _at all fast. Neither could I move swiftly, for I was a heavy-bodied naga - so it became sort of an awkwardly slow-paced game of tag.

As velocity-challenged as I was, however, I towered a good foot above him and possessed the muscles of a bear. I scared the dickens out of him, and I wasn't even planning to eat him.

Nevertheless, it soon became obvious that he was leading me to his camp, and I was going to get skewered by his elders (him being a tiny squeak like me, there were no doubt others larger than him). I gave him one last good snarl, and I turned back, feeling rather smug.

Right as I did so, I heard a very loud splash. We had ended at a babbling creek, into which Phoebus had flung his entire body with great gusto. Before I could process things, I found myself forced onto my stomach by a brilliant blast of chilly water - it was water that did not splash to the ground like it was supposed to, but water that _hovered._

The Prince of Meridian introduced me to magic.

He held the water in the air, letting it lap threateningly at my nostrils, my eyes. I hardly moved or breathed, for this was beyond my experience. I had no previous notion of magic. In that moment, I truly believed he _was _a spirit come to punish me.

I did not speak English at the time, but I now understand the words he'd said then:

"You haven't conquered me yet, snake."

The creature's eyes gleamed in the moonlight and wrinkled into a smile. Then the water dropped to the earth, and he was gone.

I was lucky he ended it there, and did not call for his campmates to come and roast me alive. I thank him for his compassion.

The Prince and I truly hit it off that evening, as we both endangered each other's lives. I'd say that our friendship progressed rather swimmingly from there.

My parents did not know of my midnight exchange with the human, but they detected a certain hauntedness about me, and not without interrogating me about it. I said nothing, as any dishonest little boy would do.

But I thought about magic after that night, and I thought about it often. I was unable to perform any spells until my tenth year of age… but that is a story for later.

We are getting to the good part, my friends. The war on the nagas begins.


	6. Alien words

It became a game of chess. A pawn had been attacked (I considered that blue-eyed magician a type of "pawn" then, of course; how could I have known he was royalty?), and it was only a matter of days before their knights and bishops would swoop down on us. I lay awake at night, pondering and fearing. Was our brute force a match for their watery witchcraft?

Either Phoebus kept his mouth shut about the night chase, however, or the humans decided to wait until the time was right. We received no attack for three days.

In the meantime, our scouts had yet to witness such an extravagant act of magic as I had; thus, I knew something that my entire race didn't. This burden was far too much for a nine-year-old to bear.

So, I approached my father and nervously asked:

"Have you ever seen a spirit before?"

You might expect him to furrow his brow and reply, "Er… no." But he matter-of-factly looked me in the eye and confirmed, "Yes."

And he proceeded to tell me about his near-death experience, twenty years ago, when he was pinned down by an adult rhinosaur. His head was inches from its fangs when a cloudy being seemed to swoop down and lift the beast, just enough for him to scramble out from its weight and return home.

Perhaps this was the same class of spirit that Phoebus was, and perhaps not, but I realized that my father would believe me if I told him I'd found a wizard.

So, I did.

Of course, I was now confined to a tree hollow for my disobedience in running away, but he did not deny my claim.

My father was respected for his intelligence, so when he told the other men of my encounter with the water boy, it was largely accepted. Our scouts paid closer attention to their targets, to see if this tale was true.

My brothers and friends, however, began to mock me. What an absurd idea, that a being could lift water off the earth and make it dance about in the air! I, too, almost doubted that I'd actually seen such a thing.

But I loved the idea too much to quash it.

I told them stories of the magician - how he'd emerged, ghostlike, out of a mist, stared into my soul with those shining eyes, commanded the entire river to swallow me whole; how I bravely withstood his attack and drove him out of the forest (oh, what a liar I was). I used all the epic-sounding words I could muster, and I became a storyteller. A lunatic storyteller, according to my peers, but a storyteller nonetheless.

It was delicious.

If only I could've written those stories. It would be amusing to read the concoctions of my wild, nine-year-old brain. Shame that I possess those bulging, unwieldy things for fingers in my true form. They are not nearly as dextrous as my human fingers…

Hm, where was I?

Ah, yes. That evening, the knights and bishops arrived.

It was not an _attack_, as you and I would both expect… though it very nearly became one.

There were screams, and raising of swords and spears - but our chiefman - a ten-foot goliath of a naga - stood himself between us and the twenty human men, scaring them all half-dead, and thrust a medium-sized tree trunk into the ground before him.

It was a universal signal: "Stand still, and shut up."

Ah, communication. We had none of it, save facial expressions and hand gestures… which only got us so far, especially with their mouths covered by air masks. I was quite enjoying myself, watching the show from my perch in the trees (yes, I left the tree-hollow to which I'd been banished. The view from it was abysmal).

Apparently, the humans had decided on diplomacy.

They'd brought their weapons, yes, but also thick, swollen bags of goods, which they opened to us. Gold and silver, cloth, wool, seeds of every kind, and probably compasses or other silly toys like that (I can't bring myself to remember everything).

Well, bartering was one thing we understood. Our chiefman exchanged glances with his deputies, decided _why not_, and offered the humans three rhinosaur skins. (This was as far as it went in terms of naga luxury products).

I imagine the humans were expecting a bit more, but were thrilled to be still alive rather than in the jaws of a snake-monster, so they took the skins, said "Thank you kindly," and retreated to their side of the chessboard.

And this, dear reader, concludes the brief period of peace between human and naga.

The seeds were used to feed the children, the fabrics as bedding. We had no idea what on earth to do with gold and silver… so the coins were left in the bag.

…Yes, yes, I can hear you asking: "Where was the Prince in all of this?"

Our dear magician was not among the twenty men, which came as both a disappointment and a sweet relief to me. Of course, I thought to myself, he was probably up in the trees, spying on everything.

And he was.

That night, while I finished my last hours of banishment in the tree hollow, I tried (and failed) to make rocks float magically in the air.

Phoebus, in some sick kind of sympathy for my aloneness, caused a light rainstorm to occur in my tree hollow.

I was, honestly and truly, enraged.

But I was not stupid. I kept silent.

He saw me creeping towards him, and took off into another tree. Propelled by a sudden desire to rip him to shreds, I monkeyed through the branches and rather quickly came upon him; my hands were just close enough to grab his shoulders.

Realizing this, Phoebus planted his feet upon a branch, pivoted, and dug his bony fingers into my neck, delivering a shockwave of some kind that vibrated my very bones. I melted to my knees, begging him to stop.

He did so, standing quietly above me while I recovered. Why didn't he flee while he had the chance? I haven't the faintest idea.

"Are you a demon?" I remember saying, not caring that he didn't understand.

He replied with something, accompanied by a sardonic laugh. Knowing him, the words were probably, "You're pathetic."

Shakily, I stood myself up, looked him in the eye, and made a logical decision.

In one swift movement, I grabbed the Prince's skinny neck and pinned him against the tree trunk. I dared him to shock me again. (He _was _very likely going to shock me again. This was a stupid decision on my part.)

He gave me a series of tiny shocks throughout my arm, and I had no choice but to let go.

I wanted to kill him.

Phoebus was not attacking me per se, but he _was_ returning each attack I gave him. I couldn't decide what his intention was. Did he want to keep exchanging blow for blow? Show me all his nasty magic tricks until we had no energy left? Sit and have a nice chat, perhaps?

He said something to me, holding both palms up. I didn't know what that meant, so I only stared.

After a minute of silent thinking, the Prince shrugged and sat down cross-legged on the tree, relaxing against the trunk with an obnoxious sigh.

Well. He was saying, "Let's not kill each other."

I didn't exactly know what to do with that.

He raised his pale brows, patted the thick bark, and said a word.

"Huh?" I replied, feeling like a simpleton.

He flattened his palm against a branch, pointing to it. "_Tree_," he said. "Tree." And he motioned toward me, and then the tree again. "You?"

Good grief, he was trying to exchange languages.

That night, we learned Tree, Water, Hand, Eyes, and quite a few others, including each other's names. He laughed hysterically at my terrible pronunciation, and I gave him a good scratch across the face. That was satisfying.

And as much as I hated that cheeky magician, I talked with him until the sun came up.


	7. Three arrows

In those days, I found myself barraged not only by humans, but by questions… just as my reader is, no doubt. For example:

Why was Phoebus unable to cast his "shockwave spell" the _first _time I chased him? Perhaps he was too terrified to come near enough to me to do it… or he honestly hadn't perfected the spell yet, and needed another day or two to practice it. I will never know.

Yet, here is a question I can confidently address:

Why did the Prince choose me, Kedrayk, out of all the tons of young, reckless nagas dwelling in our rainforest, to befriend?

I attribute that to chance. I was the one adventuring through the canopy, and if I were someone else, he very well may have befriended a different young naga, taught him English, and brought him to Meridian to be his servant.

No, I am not being modest. I had no special qualities that would draw him to me; no talents, no witty sense of humor. I was bloodthirsty, simple-minded, and overly curious about human ways.

…Ha. Well. Perhaps those very traits _are _precisely what drew him to me. After all, they are things we have in common.

(Why yes, I suppose I just did, indirectly, call the Prince simple-minded. To insult one's own friend and employer in the security of locked-away pages… how very refreshing…)

Do forgive my distracted mind. Yesterday, I embarked on my fourth teleportational trip to Earth, a journey which is rather taxing on both mind and body. I am exhausted. Yet, I find myself blearily writing by lamplight at two o' clock in the morning; this little memoir seems to be my only source of sanity these days.

My current location is Connecticut, whose daytime sky is bluer, and foliage greener, than I could describe. The vividity of the colors almost cause my retinas to ache. Yet, in this otherworldly city, I enjoy the odd peace of the "normality." _Everyone_ in Connecticut is human.

Everyone on _Earth,_ I should add. There are no aliens.

What a strange world it is.

Stranger still would be Meridian, to a human's eyes, I suspect. The overwhelming majority of our population has tough reptilian skin and claws, and for good reason; the planet is crawling with giant fur spiders, rhinosaurs, and various lizard-like predators, some of them larger than a grown man. One would certainly be eaten, were they not careful (like a certain naga boy we know…)

And I am not even addressing the general aggressive nature of Meridian's society, whether human or Galhot.

Hah, have I yet dissuaded my audience from visiting my planet? My apologies to whatever tourism industry may exist in Metamoor's future…

Let us return to the rainforest. I believe we left off where the little dragon and the water boy were having language lessons.

The lessons ended at dawn… and they ended badly.

I knew, as soon as Phoebus's face paled and a small army of men softly approached our tree, bow and arrow aimed at my neck, that he had duped me.

"Go," the magic boy hissed. "Get out."

Without having learned those words, I knew their meaning. I bolted. Two arrows bit through my tail, and I cried out, faltering in my path.

They continued shooting - and Phoebus did not stop them; rather, he turned his back and returned to his camp. The devil had changed his mind; he didn't want me to escape after all. He'd rather I die.

_Why?! _I wondered furiously.

A third arrow punctured my lower arm; every bit of respect I'd had for Phoebus melted. I arrived home that painful morning, bleeding and betrayed. My mother immediately set to healing me, and the entire clan saw the three arrows in my skin.

The games were over.

"We charge at sunset," proclaimed the chiefman, eyeing me with pity as my mother pushed me inside our rocky den.

I hated pity… but I _despised _exclusion.

It took all my mother's strength to keep me from bursting from the den and demanding that I help fight in the invasion. She shook me and growled, "You've gone mad, Kedrayk! Do you want to die at the hands of the humans? Is that your wish?"

And the answer to that was _no. _I was a fragile child, after all; I was afraid of death.

Yet… it was intolerable, to be trampled down and trapped - once again - in a hole. There was a _war_ impending, and I would see none of it!

I would see no more _magic._

"I've interacted with them," I protested. "You know that. I deserve a place in the army; I know the humans!"

"Despite being _wounded_, little dragon, you are not the only one," my mother continued quietly. "Several other young ones had run off too, to spy on the humans. Do you think that you deserve to attack these creatures, simply because you are 'brave'?"

She then wrapped my three wounds with the cloth the humans had given us - a strange sort of irony.

I did not speak; I was too frustrated to think of words, and the adrenaline was beginning to give way to the exhaustion from staying up all night, learning words from the magician.

"I hate them," I finally said.

My mother sighed and stood up. I was sure she was going to say, "I hate them too."

But she said, "They hate us too."


	8. Neck-deep

I slept through the first battle.

How anticlimactic, indeed. When I arose late the next morning (my bleeding, exhausted body had demanded that I let it sleep in), I found myself surrounded by a clan with some wounds, some broken bones… and three casualties.

One casualty was my cousin.

I remember so little of life, but one thing I do recall clearly is Hyirak. He hunted rhinosaurs for fun (which I do not recommend), dove in winter water to save drowning infants, and often spoke up to the chiefman when he disagreed with his ideas - and rare was it, indeed, for a naga to challenge the chiefman.

Yet Hyirak, the very _definition _of courage, died.

Our clan seemed to die with him.

A human man, only twenty-seven years of age, had used magic, and plunged a tree branch through Hyirak's abdomen.

I am unsure how to describe my hatred then. It was suddenly hard and unbending, like smelted metal. My mind could hardly function; it was _exhausted_ with hatred. Every naga was - we were hungry with anger, wild with it.

But, we were wounded, and in need of preparation. The time to end the humans was not yet come.

Let me be clear regarding the nature of nagas: it was in our very physiology to feel the same feelings together; we were a _we, _not a set of individuals. If even one of us felt hatred, it would spread like fire. It was a survival instinct, if you will; we acted as one.

According to my father, some of the humans had retaliated by casting moderately impressive spells - lifting crates off the ground and thrusting them at nagas' heads; throwing seawater into our eyes; and of course, slashing at us with their finely-crafted swords - certainly spilling our blood and injuring a good lot of us - but _not_ defeating us.

With our rock-sturdy skin and unholy muscles (and _quite _convenient advantage of tolerating tree-gas without a mask), we killed twenty men, and drove the rest of them neck-deep into the ocean. That was when the chieftain called off the attack.

We had sent our message.

If they would not leave within the next day, we would end them.

I, Kedrayk, was not satisfied. I crowded my poor, tired father with questions. How many _were_ they? Did all of them have magic? _Was the Prince there_?

Well, to answer my own questions, one by one: There were about fifty men. At least half of them knew magic - and, granted, several were rather clever magicians. But Phoebus? Our dear prince fought like a possessed monkey. He leapt between the treetops, magicking his fellow humans into being faster, stronger. He helped them dodge attacks; he even managed to control some nagas' arms or hands into moving the wrong direction; accidentally clocking a clanmate over the head, perhaps.

And for all his effort, my race beat his. Poor pipsqueak.

Ah, Phobos, if only you knew how much I hated you then.

Worry not, reader, for soon he risks his life for mine, and saves me from his own kind. This, perhaps, is enough to keep me writing, for truly, I am weary from remembering the rainforest. I have been scribbling on about deaths and injuries, events that once seemed but bedtime stories. They were… far away. Yet, writing about them makes them come close again. Cedric, you weak-minded fool, what exactly possessed you to amass this forsaken pile of ramblings-

Excuse me. There is a knock at my door.

* * *

Well. The things you'll find on this blue planet, at 3:05 in the morning.

I found Miranda.

Now, my purpose in coming to Earth was _not _to bring a parade of aliens along with me, neither was it to nurse one of my teenage "coworkers" back to some sort of semblance of health… yet, here we are.

She was wrapped in a silver-and-red cloak, leaning against the doorframe like a dying dog. "M-my deepest apologies, milord," she mumbled as her freckled head nodded weakly. "I am in n-need of assistance…" And with that eloquent speech, she fainted.

Inconveniently, Miranda is not human. She is a young spider, and not of the house variety, but a horse-sized, four-legged… fur-ball, sort of... thing.

So, when she passed out on my front porch, the disguise faltered with her. She became her true self again.

Hmph, the side effects of being an amateur shapeshifter…

Carrying her unconscious body into my recently-dusted bookshop was… unpleasant, but I thank the heavens she was only fifteen, or she would've been elephant-sized.

I shoved the mountain of black fur into my storage room, set her on a pillow, and lit a candle.

Let me be clear: I am not a doctor. My adoptive mother knew several tricks, and so did her colleagues, but very little of this knowledge was passed on to me… and for good reason: I couldn't care less.

Unfortunately, her joints were all severely bruised, and her respiration was uneven. The idiot. What in heaven's name possessed her to travel to Earth? Her body isn't nearly as sturdy; she hasn't been exposed to as much magic as I, and couldn't possibly withstand the pressure of crossing the spacial fabric…

Well, what to do? I could've used magic to heal her, but I am inexperienced in the medical-magic field, and I doubted that any more magic would be good for her broken body. So, I wrapped her limbs with ice and cloth, waited until her breathing eased, and left the room.

Best let her recover in peace.

Tomorrow morning (which is only four hours away), I shall find out why she decided to follow me to Earth; and, more importantly, whether or not Phobos knows about it…

Ugh… Goodnight.


	9. Royal arrival

_Author's Note: The time of Cedric's writing this chapter is during the 6th issue, "Illusions and Lies." __This story is going to be more loyal to the comics, but still include some elements of the TV cartoon (e.g. Miranda, obviously). I'm trying to create a harmony between the two._

**_EDIT: _**_Yes, this chapter has been completely revamped. I wasn't satisfied with the first version ("Secrets and Soup,") so here is take two!_

_A huge thank you to those who support me through your reviews and follows; you make this project very exciting for me! Without further ado, I'll stop talking and let Cedric have the floor._

* * *

Top of the morning to you.

I will attempt to keep this brief; the night afforded me only four hours of sleep. My head is heavier than a rock.

Lo and behold, Miranda's mysterious arrival was none other than Princess Elyon's handiwork. It seems that my dear apprentice had finally mastered the use of Phobos's teleportation seal… at three o' clock in the morning.

Indeed, she arrived at my doorstep only two hours after her black-haired lady-in-waiting - with, of course, only mild soreness (that royal body of hers inherited such endurance for magic) and a bearable headache.

And very little regard for her teacher's newfound migraine, I might add.

Truly, Phobos's sister is _beyond_ patience. It seems that Heaven itself sent her to me, as my ultimate test; or a measuring-stick of my… mental "resilience"…

"Did it work?" she whispered loudly, leaping into my midnight-black bookshop as soon as I opened the door. "Is Miranda here?"

I nodded, only to regret doing so - the princess was yet unfamiliar with Miranda's true form, and I suspected that our young spider did _not _want that revealed yet…

"She's asleep," I croaked. "And so was I."

"Oh, gosh," she breathed, putting a hand on her cheek. "It worked! Holy cow!" Then, one wide-eyed look at me, and she adjusted herself. "I mean: My apologies, Cedric. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Indeed."

It must have been midday in Meridian, from whence she'd come, for the little imp was full of energy and _refused_ to fall asleep. So, I gave her an old spell book of mine and told her to study it… for two hours.

My rickety bed offered me those two more hours of blessed sleep… after which I arose and, somehow, prepared buttermilk pancakes. I don't exactly remember cooking them… or eating them. I was half-awake. I believe my two guests enjoyed them, however.

Poor Miranda seemed half-dead; her oriental face was ice-white and her eyes cloudy, and it seemed all she could do to keep up with Elyon's questions: "Have you been to Earth before? Don't you love how warm the air is? Did it feel weird when I sent you over? Were you so nervous when I didn't come right after you arrived, 'cause I suddenly couldn't get that stupid seal to work for a little while?"

In summary: "No, no, yes, and _yess," _were Miranda's answers. After which, she accidentally dropped her cup, for her wrists were still rather weak, and spilled orange juice upon my black collared shirt.

Ah… mornings.

Well, I can report that Miranda is now safely back in Meridian. (_I _sent her; just because Elyon created two successful portals in one night, did not mean _all _of her portals would lead to the correct location…)

Miranda, as young as she is, seems to have the patience of an old mother when it comes to the Princess. Of course, around me and the other servants, she's irritable and sassy; but - just as I do, in many respects - she certainly has little Elyon fooled.

As for Her Highness, she is currently going through a History of Women textbook, practicing self-disguisement.

I assigned her sixty drills; her task is to study a photograph, magically imitate the woman's appearance as best as possible, and check for accuracy with a mirror.

She is _terrible _at it.

Hah. I recall training myself with that very method when I was young. Let me inform you, dear reader, that shapeshifting in any way is difficult. Even adjusting the color of one's hair takes continual concentration. It took me six years to develop the ability to hold my human disguise without the aid of Alda, my second mother.

I find pleasure in the fact that Elyon is leagues worse than I am, at at least _one _magical skill. She seems to learn everything _else _so quickly, as if she were born casting spells. Well - her mother was Queen Weira, of all people, so that does make sense. Sorcery runs in her veins… yet, as it stands, shapeshifting does _not._

Indeed, while I write, she occasionally hisses an oath or two. "Come on, get it right! Get it already!"

Poor pipsqueak.

While our blue-eyed princess studies away, I shall address a concern which, until now, I have not mentioned: Who _am_ I?

Hah. I've strenuously described my past self, but I have yet to properly introduce the present-day Lord Cedric Sarevall, who is actually writing these words. I act as Prince Phobos's chief executor of interplanetary, or otherwise covert, affairs. Which is to say, in plain English: I do his dirty work.

As far as the public is concerned, however, I am one of the Prince's few "advisors." How flattering a lie. His true advisors are in fact profoundly intelligent, because they are not mortal, but _spirits. _Phobos used deep, dark magic to concoct live beings out of the dead… and to be rather frank, they send quivers up my back whenever I look them in the eyes.

Well, do I sound quite like one of the Grimm Brothers yet? I assure you, this is possible, and very real. Imagine Phobos's face when he discovers what secrets I've published to the universe. This is beginning to be, how should I say… _fun_ to write.

My current assignment is twofold: train the princess in her magic abilities, and "aid" her in weakening the Veil. "Aid," as she'd put it - for the princess is merely a child, who believes what I tell her. I am not truly _aiding_ her, but rather, taking _advantage_ of that exorbitant lump of magic she conveniently inherited. And her… well, general lack of knowledge.

Hm, I ought to explain what this "Veil" is that we are weakening. It is, in summary, a product of paranoia and no small amount of greed. This is not only my personal opinion, but that of Meridian's entire high court. The Oracle of Candrakar, in an attempt to exert control over those with magic, constructed a teleportational embargo between Earth and the five other life-bearing planets - including Metamoor, my homeworld. (I, of course, frequently breach the embargo via one of many powerful spells concocted by Phobos.)

This Veil was established centuries ago, not long after Metamoor was first colonized by medieval magicians. The Oracle wanted, according to my studies, to "preserve Earth's natural balance, untainted by magic," and to "protect its people from future chaos."

As if magic were some bloodthirsty beast, certain to rip one's throat out if not contained. Bah.

One must embrace the fact that the Oracle _knew _how much power he possessed. The entire planet of Candrakar is swimming, _drowning_ in magic energy. He could birth a new _galaxy_ if he put his mind to it.

If we all journeyed to Earth and revealed magic to them, an explosion of discovery and greed would rattle at society, just as it rattled _my _life when I discovered sorcery. We would soon realize that Earth is _equal_ to Candrakar in magical potential.

Why is this? Put plainly: _humans._ They are, blatantly, the most intelligent creatures in existence; thus, the most _able_ to hold magic. And Earth is crawling with them.

Once the Earthlings unlocked the secret to using magic, they would clamor at it like bees to nectar. The Oracle would have _competition._

Paranoia, my friends, is no small poison.

On that note, I must close the book; the young royal has completed her last disguise. Tomorrow, we shall conduct espionage on the five guardians of the Oracle's Veil - and, yes, you and I shall also return to the rainforest, for I too am eager to continue the tale - but _today..._ I shall take a nap.


	10. Errands of business

_February 8, 1988_

Do accept my apologies; I've neglected to notate time as I write, until now. What kind of journal would this be, if I omitted dates? I could hardly call myself a competent author - not that I ever _have _considered myself that.

In fact, I'm surprised you're still reading this. You _enjoy_ my jaded musings?

One man's trash, another's treasure, perhaps…

I shall give only a brief progress report, and then I'd like to bring us back to my childhood forest. It's been a monotonous, snowy two days of searching and spying with Elyon, and I am quite eager to banish the thought of her from my mind, at least for one evening.

This morning I infiltrated the home of a Professor Dean Collins, who - according to Elyon - is a history instructor to Wilhelmina Vandom, leader of the Veil's guardians. Interestingly, this man is also involved with Will's single mother - thus, young Miss Vandom harbors quite a bit of animosity towards him.

He will be an excellent challenge for my camouflage skills.

In my experience, if one is aiming for subtlety, the most effective way to weaken a person is to fill them with confusion and anger. What better way to do so, than to sever the relationships of the people around them.

Will's teacher, and potential stepfather, is a perfect tool to instill a good amount of fear in her.

I set my royal student to work, searching for more details of Miss Vandom's life - and more candidates for impersonation. Elyon is not the devious type - she is only sixteen, after all, still full of fantasies and daydreams - but I _do _detect an undertone of anger in her. There is no doubt that she is willing to attack this Guardian, who causes her brother Phobos so much grief and frustration.

Out of necessity, I shall closely monitor Elyon's progress. This little magician is not an imbecile, but still not as bright as her brother - at least, not in the common-sense category.

Oh, if I had known that an employment under Phobos meant that I'd be tutoring teenage girls…

Not that she is _useless, _of course. Her firsthand knowledge of Earth - and of the five Guardians, at that - is worth more than gold. While she lacks the finesse to take on drastic shapeshifting endeavors, she naturally possesses the mannerisms of an Earthling… which mannerisms I had to _work _at imitating.

Yes, this peevish human student of mine had only one valuable skill to teach _me_: how to act like a peevish human.

Ah, if _you, _reader, happen to be human, note that I do not consider _all_ humans irritable and irrational. I know at least a few of them that are actually quite patient, and caring …

…Actually, I can only think of one, and that is my adoptive mother. Of course, she is not truly human, although she became quite good at fooling the rest of the world that she was.

Full of aliens, this world is…

Why, it seems I've gotten on a tangent again. My mind is a disjointed creature; do forgive me.

Well, I hunted Phoebus down again, after the dust settled and the clan recovered from the sword fight. It was simply an errand of business. I needed to conquer that human creature, before one of my clan mates killed him, or before he left on a ship back for home.

Not that the word "retreat"was _anywhere_ in the humans' vocabulary. Naturally, they would rather return the attack.

Ultimatums are useless.

"Retreat, or we'll kill you." This was our implicit declaration to them. A sound proposition, if you'd ask me. Firm, unmoving, yet providing room for a… less _fatal_ option.

Their reply to that was an ultimatum of their own, which I could describe as something to the effect of: "To hell with you."

At the midnight hour, two nights after our first victory, the twenty living souls left of them would bring rain upon us. The rain would be made of steel-alloy arrows, flying man-sized boulders, and airborne swords.

We would be grossly unprepared.

Yes, I knew the attack was coming. I'd seen the great piles of boulders and sharpened metal in their camp when I'd searched for Phoebus, simply for the pleasure of spilling his blood.

Revenge was a new sensation, a coursing feeling of… lightning.

The euphoria of tracking his scent through the night-dark trees lasted only one minute, for a snake-skinned finger poked my shoulder and stopped me in my tracks.

It was Balek.

This brother of mine was not an adventurous creature. He had his rare impulses, but usually, he preferred to eat and sleep. So, I found myself shocked that it wasn't Neytak, the warrior of our family, or Reyulk, who loved the trees almost as much as I did, but _Balek._

He wanted, of all things, to seethe water-wizard. After days of listening to my stories, the curiosity was apparently too much for him. Although I hated his intrusion, I couldn't bring myself to argue with that.

But… I still _hated his intrusion._

"Go away, Balek," I commanded him.

"Make me." He laughed, which caused me nearly to claw his nose off. I quite doubt how exactly I kept myself composed.

"This isn't your kill," I growled. "It's mine."

"You told me he almost drowned you just by looking at you," he guffawed. "Don't you want somebody to back you up, little lizard?"

I clocked him upon the head, and he replied by throwing me in the direction of my chase. "C'mon, show me this Feebles guy. I wanna see him."

"You'll slow me down," I spat.

"I'm not sorry," he said quite honestly.

There was no getting rid of him. I huffed, turned around, and continued towards the magician's scent. "And his name's Phoebus."

"Uh-huh." A few moments later: "So… _why _do you care about pronouncing the name of something you're about to kill?"

I frankly do not know the answer to that.

Phoebus was on the shore, surrounded by dead and wounded humans. I still remember the image: seawater filling in the gaps between thirty corpses, half-covering them with moonlit liquid and then receding back into the tide, while the other men softly went about burying their comrades, readying their ammunition…

He was kneeling and trembling.

"I'll lure him out?" Balek suggested in my ear.

"Not yet…" I wanted to watch him. See the way he moved; see if he would cast any more enchantments, if I could get one last glimpse of his magic before he died...

Phoebus pulled a small dagger from his belt.

Had he sensed us? We backed away and hid beneath a bush, ready to grab him if he wandered off. "Come on," I whispered to him. "Come here."

He stood up, said something to the men gathering corpses, and went into the water. It was a slow, calculated movement, he gently dipped the dagger into the saltwater and then into a casualty, drawing blood… and pressing his hand into the wound, eyes squeezed shut in concentration…

What the _devil_, I remember thinking. He's going to _revive_ them…

He was silent for a very long time, swaying slightly and leaning over the corpse.

In a sudden flash of frustration, the Prince yelled out and wrenched his hand from the body, flinging the dagger into the water.

"I _can't," _he cried, grabbing his arms. "I… I can't."

And... there was only a pitiful silence. His comrades glanced at him, then lowered their eyes and continued on with their business… like drones.

Balek looked at me. "What... did he say?" he whispered.

"He can't."

"Can't... what?"

"He can't revive them." I turned around. "We're done here."

"Huh?" He stared at me, muscles tensing. "Why, Kedrayk?"

"I don't want to kill him anymore."

I'd said it too loudly.

Phoebus looked me straight in the eyes, shouted something, and flexed his palm. The dagger shot through the air and pierced the tree bark, missing my head by nine inches.

"Run, Balek."

He, of course, found that idea ridiculous, and he burst forward, hissing at the magician like the idiot that he was; an idiot with a death wish. I screamed at him and grabbed his arm, but a poison-spiked arrow was already deep in his chest.

Balek coughed, sputtered, and fell to the ground.

... He was dead.

"You _demons,"_ I thundered, shifting to a hunter's stance. "You demons!"

Phoebus sauntered towards me unarmed, holding his hand out towards the other men. They lowered their bows, and did not attack me. I then knew he had some sort of authority, for this was the second time that they had dutifully obeyed the command of a mere boy...

The last time, however, he'd ordered them to _shoot_ at me. When would he make up his _mind_? Did he want me dead or alive?

He accelerated in his stride. His mouth was covered by the air mask, but I saw enough anger in his eyes. The magician bellowed, "Hello, little dragon! Came to attack me again, did you?"

_Why, yes. _I lunged for his throat, and I was able to twist it only slightly before he pressed both palms into my ribcage; the shockwave was heartless, the pain incredible. I landed upon my back.

He stepped on my left arm, paralyzed my right arm with magic. He leaned down and looked at me with those alien, blue eyes.

I wanted to die.

He studied me silently, evaluating his prey. He yanked his dagger from the tree, and pressed it against my neck. The tip of it kissed into my skin.

"_Get out_," he hissed; his eyes flickered towards the forest. "Send this message. You don't leave, we attack tomorrow. Understand me?"

I knew only the word _Attack _and the words _Get out__,_ but that was more than enough. "Yes."

His hand trembled. He snarled again: "Get. _Out._"

Then he stepped away, and sheathed his dagger.


	11. Bookshop battle

_Author's Note: _New cover image! My drawing style has shifted in the past few years since I drew the previous one, and Cedric needed an update.

Wow, I am seriously enjoying this project. Thank you, everyone, for your support!

* * *

February 15, 1988

It's been a week since I've written.

I am quite unsure of what to say, after my seven-day silence… other than that my lungs are still heaving air and my heart continues to pump blood, and for_ that_ I am painfully grateful. I'll never take _living _for granted again, I think.

What a day to be alive.

A rebellion approaches, my reader. Not the fantastical kind either. Hah. Not the kind which is merely chatted about over breakfast, the kind in which citizens gather with flags on sticks and yell at their prince for a couple of balmy hours. No indeed; we've a steelhearted _mutiny,_ in which His Majesty's first _officer_ is nearly assassinated for his "crimes against mankind."

That would be _myself, _yes, if I haven't made that bloodily clear enough.

I'm a lucky man, lucky to be alive. Sleep appears to be shunning me like a plague of sorts, so until he and I are on good terms again, I can think of nothing but to _write. _I'll explain this rebellion to you, if my aching hand will cooperate with me.

Perhaps I'll start with the man that nearly had me killed.

You might be familiar with the name _Vathek._ Then again, you might not - which is vastly more likely - so I'll introduce him to you:

Vathek is a blue-skinned _rhinoceros _of a man, and I mean that almost literally. Built with muscles of hard rock, this man is a Galhot - a native creature of Metamoor. Although two-legged and quite human-shaped, he possesses two things which humans generally lack: reptile-leathery skin, and a brain made of feathers.

The poor fellow just shouldn't have been working for Phobos. It isn't right to put a half-_animal_ in the place of nobility; the creature was better suited yanking weeds at some cotton plantation. Yet, as the evidence stands, Phobos wanted Vathek for his brute strength.

(Not that I should blame His Highness for that; he wanted _me_ in his task force for a similar purpose. I am a slithering, venomous, sorcerous _weapon.)_

Vathek was put under my supervision two years ago… which was my third year of employment under Phobos, I believe. I was to train him in the field of magic, just as the Prince had trained me, but _that _very quickly proved futile. Like most Galhots, Vathek was born magicless. Ridiculously strong in the physical field, but he couldn't make a food box float. Not a spell in him.

So, I used him as a training partner. While the Prince is a _wonderful_ challenge for my magical-combat skills, he's still skinny as branches, and I needed something a bit more _bear-_like to hone my physical defenses. Vathek, the built-of-bricks Galhot, was perfect for such a purpose. We'd spent many an hour wrestling each other, competing to see who could turn their opponent utterly black and blue the quickest… and I'd be a liar to say that _I _won the most fights…

Some time later, I found another advantage of him being a Galhot.

Three months ago, I assigned him, and five others of his kind, to gather intelligence regarding the rebel groups. They seemed to have a place of meeting, somewhere outside the city limits. I would have liked to sniff out that location _myself,_ but my hands were already full with training Her Highness. So, the blue reptile went undercover for me, after I gave him a scrying charm.

_Gads,_ it took me days to concoct that blasted charm; a glass device for long-distance communication is more complicated than it sounds…

Well, Vathek was - in _theory_ \- a better candidate for spying anyway. I can shape-shift into a Galhot if I want, but _he_ naturally could relate with them better, and could convince them that he was one of them. That he'd betrayed me, forsook Phobos, changed his own heart, and joined the rebellion. The perfect undercover spy.

So I _thought._

Hah.

Vathek, old chap, you did a brilliant job indeed. I've taught you well. You've managed to double-cross _me_, the chief of deceit, the lying snake, and I didn't even imagine it possible!

Four hundred miles away, on the very shore that lay opposite the sea from the burnt-up Ayal Rainforest, the glassy-smooth shore that I _landed _on in my tenth year of age, when my human life began… That shoreline was the bee's nest. The entrance to the rebel hideout. Vathek _found_ it, against all my expectations, and with naught but a few charismatic words and "oaths of trust" to one of the rebel captains.

They call it the Infinite City. It opens down to a spiderweb of tunnels, some of which reach towards the remotest corners of the continent… all for the purpose of mining and smelting weapons, housing fugitives, and organizing the death of King Phobos.

His Highness's demise is planned for exactly seventy days from now; however, that is Metamoorian time. If I've calculated correctly, in Earth time, that would fall on approximately the first of May…

Well, the Prince must _know _that he's the target of assassination. I'd imagine that he's even _flattered _by that. 'Why, you're going to all this trouble, for _me_?'

The Prince cannot be killed by the sword. That, my dear rebels, is your fatal error. You cannot _know _how many spells he has woven, how many ancient laws broken, to enhance his own vitality…

Vathek, unfortunately, is not of high enough rank to know that. Only I have been exposed to his secrets and his magical knowledge; only I know of the Prince's near-immortality.

So, Vathek did simply what Vathek does best: allow himself to be _swayed._

He must have pitied the rebels, while deceiving them - and they must have touched his heart, somehow. He did not seem like the compassionate type, but apparently, they'd reached him, and convinced him to abandon his previous designs. To this day, I do not know what happened to his five assistants that went with him... but I suspect that they obediently followed Vathek in joining the rebel cause, lest they be killed on the spot...

To my understanding, however, the first week of his espionage in the Infinite City went exactly as planned. He remained loyal to me, and passed on much information as his brain could possibly withhold. With his help, I mapped out the locations of each storehouse, the networks, the crossroads, the times and dates…

…But a few more days in, and he gradually became - well - _unhelpful._

The man seemed to have his head in the clouds; he would report vaguely that he was following a certain tunnel north, then hastily break off communication because he was "being overheard." I would not hear from him until the next day, upon which he'd greet me with, "I turned me back south. This tunnel ain't but a work-in-progress silver mine. Few shovels and lanterns, and the like."

I should have_ detected _the signs as soon as they showed. The old oaf was hiding things. Perhaps if I weren't so distracted by Elyon, I would have analyzed his behavior more intently, attempted to contact him more often…

…But he got away, and the idiot that I was, I _let _him.

The plan had been to incite the rebels to anger, and bring them, a huge swarming group of them, to Earth. Vathek and I would co-open a portal for them, which would lead directly to the storehouse of my bookshop, and the force of so many bodies pushing through that portal would create such a rip in the Veil, that it would give a person a _migraine _to repair it.

After which, each traitor would be bound with cords, returned to the city of Meridian, and publicly executed.

"Fourteen of them," he told me one day, briefly and quietly. "That's how many rebels I could convince, m'lord. They comin' through tonight." And then he cut off communication.

This was, in fact, the very night in which I wrote my previous snippet, February eighth. That was an… _interesting_ day; I believe that I spent the entire afternoon cleaning up the mess that Elyon had made. She'd managed to disguise herself as Will Vandom's swim teacher, that magical imp, and cornered the Guardian in a _public pool._

Now, she'd made sure to set up an appointment for private "swim practice," which was considerate of her. Whatever plan she had to attack this Guardian, at least it could be subtle, and without a lot of witnesses…

However, she neglected some small details… namely, the _security cameras. _I was beside myself trying to disable the electric things without being conspicuous about it, and afterwards I had to distract the police officers from rushing to inspect the cause of the damage, and by then Elyon had made a complete fool of herself, for she'd gotten angry at something Will said, dropped her disguise completely, and commanded the entire public pool to whisk itself up and swallow little Will into a torrent of chlorinated water.

Ah, at this point, I somewhat pitied the little Guardian. The sensation I hate most, in this entire universe, is that of _water _up one's lungs.

Before our waterlogged redhead could gather herself enough to fight back, Princess Elyon had teleported herself hastily back to my bookshop, likely because she'd realized that she'd just incited a warrior representative of _Candrakar_ to fury, and was about to receive a well-rounded rear-kicking.

I had to muffle my laughter. The little _coward._ Hit and run, is it, now?

For the next two hours, I made myself useful erasing the memories of the nearby passersby; thank Divination I'd learned that spell from Phobos before leaving for Earth. And that's an exhausting _project_ of a spell, if you must know. It took nearly all of my energy just to mindwipe six people - which included four police officers, and _their _minds are of course specially trained, and difficult to penetrate…

I do quite _love_ this book; it allows me to complain all that I want. Ahh.

Well, three hours later, while the Earth sun lowered itself through that strange, vivid-blue sky, I prepared my bookshop for the invasion.

The preparation, really, was only a load of traps. In the dusty far-back aisles, I placed optical illusions and tiny portals, to give a visitor the impression of traveling the same way over and over again, losing track of one's direction, and finding themselves in the midst of a maze of bookshelves.

This trap was partly to maintain visual privacy from any passersby; and partly for the rebels, to slow them down in any possible escape from the bookshop… but also for any unwelcome visitors which might barge into my dwelling-place late at night. Primarily, the Guardians.

Those five _teenagers_ are the reason Meridian suffers from a perpetual headache. They are the reason why I spend more time on _Earth_ than on _my_ planet these days; the reason that Phobos and I speak face-to-face whenever possible, in order to strategize... for these five enemies of ours are employees of Candrakar, solely for the purpose of enforcing the Veil. As if to exacerbate the point that a giant blockade was a _bad_ idea! Candrakar goes as far as to inject magical powers into five nonmagical citizens of Earth, just for the convenience of maintaining the Veil from their home planet...

Why, it's hilarious, if you'd ask me. If this Veil is meant to keep magic _out_ of Earth, but cannot be protected unless magic is put_ on_ Earth - where exactly is your logic, Oracle?

Well, I'd imagine that these five young women feel, as they say, in over their heads. To be suddenly thrust into a war between Candrakar and Meridian - for Prince Phobos has found himself the chief figure of rebellion against the Oracle, and seems to relish that fact indeed - these five girls probably think to themselves, on a day-to-day basis - _"Why me?!"_

Hah; as much as I pity them, their powers are... useful. They are unique. Because these humans were not born with magic, their powers had to be rented to them, in the form of a crystallized _amulet_, of all things - carved from the same minerals that form the planetary core of Candrakar.

Therefore, their powers are very easily extractable.

What a beautiful thought indeed, when Phobos and I don't have to _kill_ the Guardians to disable them. We need only pluck the amulet from them, and send them on their merry way.

Unless, of course, they irritate me to the point that they are _asking_ for death... Hah.

Ah, these five teenagers possess an _astounding_ ability to sniff out portals, just as I continually spy upon _their _business_. _It seems we two are on a dance of hiding and discovering... and if they were to knock on my doorstep when the portal opened and the rebels spilled through it, I would not be surprised.

With that said, on with the invasion.

It was eight o'clock; Elyon and I lay in wait behind a corner. She'd insisted on helping me bind the traitors. If she weren't _royalty, _I'd have kicked her to her room and locked the door, but her wishes were, by obligation, mine.

Besides - and I didn't prefer to admit this, but the facts remained - she's bloody talented, nearly enough to match me, and I would benefit from her magic skills if there were any danger.

And there would likely be danger.

Our friend Vathek was the first to arrive. The portal was brilliant; it blinded the retinas with cruel whiteness and tore at my bookshelves like fire, and it was easily large enough to fit four men. He'd done well indeed. I could use that portal however I liked; it was sturdy, and it would last as long as I wanted it to…

The rebels, those destitute overgrown lizards, entered carefully but firmly.

I remember their eyes; they were full of purpose and fear, those reptilish eyes of theirs. They looked about, taking in the trillions of optical-illusion books I've created, the maze of shelves and hallways, and perhaps thought to themselves, "I have never seen anything like this in my entire existence."

For fugitives such as these, I suppose the word _bravery _was an insult; they'd flown past the thought of dying. They _knew _that their cause could - and likely would - kill them. They were not merely _courageous;_ these fellows were touching the depths of pure_ insanity_. To venture to another _planet,_ upon nothing but the words of a blue-skinned Galhot who holds a teleportation key, and the promise of a better life on the other side…

_That_, my friends, is idiocy…

Vathek looked about with his dark, scale-rimmed eyes, and sized up the illusory maze I'd prepared. I had wondered when he would drop the guise. Knock them to their knees; rip the crude iron swords from their hands; reveal his true motives.

But he simply continued to hurry them through the portal - and he _watched. _He listened; he calculated; he scanned the walls, the ceiling, the corners…

"Fourteen," the princess remarked under her breath. "That's… that's a lot of them…"

"Not nearly," I muttered. "There should have been _hundreds. _The tunnels were supposedly full of them."

She stirred slightly from our hiding place. "When… when do we…"

"_Not yet._" I seized her arm. "Be still, until I tell you to move."

"Ah, okay."

By now, with so many beings together in the same room, it was taking _considerable _concentration to maintain the illusions, and Vathek was taking his _sweet_ time in giving the signal…

It was then that the disgustingly _obvious_ showed itself, as clear as noon:

He's waiting me out.

He's one of _them._

"I'm an imbecile," I announced. "He's betrayed us, Elyon. Ready yourself."

She touched my arm. "Cedric - "

"_Ready yourself." _I watched the rebels' movements toward the opening of the maze, and drew a silver blade from my belt.

"Cedric."

_"Ssh!" _She was going to reveal us, the imp -

She leaned closer to me. "Somebody _else_ is here. Could be the Guardians."

I concentrated my awareness towards the entrance of the bookshop, and immediately became grateful that I'd had an assistant with me.

"Well, _look_ at that," I chuckled to myself, _thoroughly _angry. "Five magic-wielders. It is them."

There was not enough time to count the wrong decisions I'd taken in the last few weeks, and all the deadly consequences they would bring… There was only time to repair the damage, while I could. "Elyon, distract the Guardians while I attack."

"But we should stay together, if there's danger from both parties. Let's just take down the rebels now, and _then_ deal with the Guar - "

"_Distract_ them," I commanded. It would be far easier to separate our two groups of enemies...

The rebels had entered one of the halls, but Vathek stayed at the foot of the group, still scanning the "clearing" where Elyon and I lay hidden…

"That's _useless,_ Cedric; they know where the portal is. Even if I slow them down, they'll _get_ here."

_That_ was true.

The five Guardians were employed by Candrakar to close every portal they saw; their aim was to maintain the Veil, at all costs. As for _me,_ this portal was to be nurtured and protected - at least long enough for me to infiltrate the Infinite tunnels myself, using the prisoners as ransom.

But if the Guardians' aim was towards the portal, then I could use that to my advantage.

I looked Elyon in the eyes. "Fine. Do you know what kind of spell I used for the illusions?"

"I know _enough._ I can go off of what you've already put down." She was firm. The girl knew that _I _knew she could improvise.

I closed my eyes, calculating. "Then_ lead_ them here, and we'll attack them together, while the rebels are wandering the maze." She nodded and sprung up, but I grabbed her wrist. "_Slowly, _Elyon. Take the opposite route of the rebels. Do it _right._ We need them alive."

She nodded and smiled; her eyes gleamed in the light from the portal. "Okay."

And my student scampered off, to accomplish a delicate task I'd been planning for ages, _years_ \- all in the space of five spontaneous minutes.

Somehow, though, I had no fear about her. She'd do exactly what she _said_ she'd do - unlike _some_ individuals, who'd once served me…

I took a few deep breaths, and made myself invisible. I stepped forward. Vathek, with fear etched into his leathery face, looked directly at me, although he only saw air. I grinned and bowed deeply to him, mouthing the words, "It was my pleasure to have known you."


End file.
